Reflection of the Sovereign

when seasons descend our streets,
        cats tiger'd by schizophrenia
        shed color--
                disrobing leaves.

Our streets solidify
in merits of Passage
while our steps never land ahead
        of praise
        we proffer ourselves.

The prey that Drives itself,
infused with Now ekstases,
we unbury
        relic caves,
        lost languages--
Selves
        struck down
         not sapped but
        infused with amber,
           solidified, and paved over.

Matter mints whispy
consequence.
We don't always forget
the killed cultures of November
but we loose their Now
to absence.

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